


daleksanddetectives' 30 Day OTP Challenge

by daleksanddetectives



Series: 30 Day Challenges [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Arguing, Birthday Presents, Broken Bones, Cosplay, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Femlock, Fluff, Gaming, Genderswap, Grocery Shopping, Hand Jobs, Holding Hands, Ice Cream, John Watson is a Saint, John is a Very Good Doctor, Kissing, Lace Panties, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Sharing Clothes, Sherlock Cooking, Sherlock is a Brat, Snowball Fight, Spooning, Sports, Teenlock, Watching Movies, on a date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 15,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleksanddetectives/pseuds/daleksanddetectives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty day's worth of fluffy little snapshots into John and Sherlock's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> OTP: Johnlock  
> I came back to this after almost a year and went through to tidy it up and overall improve it. My writing style has changed a lot so this is my newly updated and shiny 30 Day OTP Challenge.

It had been just over a week since Sherlock had clumsily admitted his feelings for John and really, the new dynamic hadn’t changed much between them. Sherlock often initiated cuddling on the sofa, John introduced him to the idea of kissing (which Sherlock found very interesting and decided he needed to make a repeat experiment of). They kept all physical contact to inside the flat, away from the prying eyes of Scotland Yard; they didn’t want the likes of Donovan or Anderson to have the satisfaction of winning the betting pool of when they’d get together.

Sherlock and John came to an agreement to keep their new relationship under wraps until they were one hundred percent sure that it was going to work out. John decided to maintain his “not gay” charade, while Sherlock pretended to be utterly uninterested, all the while trying not to ogle John in public.

Lestrade had been put in charge of a particularly puzzling murder and had, of course, called in the consulting duo’s help. As usual, Sherlock waltzed onto the scene, concluded that the woman had been killed by her husband and that to find him, he was hiding out at his mother’s house around the corner.

As usual, Sherlock left Lestrade quickly barking out orders to his team with a sharp, “come along John.”

Not as usual, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and intertwined their fingers in order to pull him along faster.

Scotland Yard’s officers stare after them while Lestrade mutters, “it’s about time,” under his breath.

They’re halfway to Baker Street by the time Sherlock realises he’s still holding John’s hand. He quickly untangles their fingers and shoves his hands inside his pockets, trying to ignore the faint burning in his cheeks. He mumbles a quiet sorry and turns to continue walking, but is stopped by John’s hand on his shoulder.

John smiles up at him, “it’s fine, you know.”

He reaches down to pull Sherlock’s gloved hands from his pockets and twines their fingers together once again. He gives Sherlock a little tug and they start walking slowly, easily falling into step and leaning into each other.

When they arrive back at 221, Sherlock takes John’s other hand in his and stands in front of him. A serious expression paints his face.

“Are you sure you want them to know?”

John smiles, “if you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it.”

Sherlock matches John’s smile and leans down to rest their foreheads against each other.

“And anyway,” John continues, “I was getting a bit bored of repeating myself to everyone.”

Sherlock laughs and turns to drag John up the stairs into their flat. He pulls John down onto the sofa where they wrap their arms around each other and sigh in contentment.


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

Sherlock just couldn't understand how people mindlessly sat and watched television for hours on end. The few times John had made him sit and watch something all the way through, he'd ended up arguing furiously with the host of the show, much to John's annoyance. On more than one occasion John had made him leave the room so he could “have some bloody peace and quiet.”

John is the opposite. He’d happily sit and watch television or read a book. Saturday evenings are one of his favourite times for lounging about on the sofa in old comfy clothes, especially after a few hours of chasing after Sherlock or a long day at the surgery.

After a particularly long case, they'd returned home and Sherlock had immediately stripped off his coat and settled into his arm chair with John's laptop to type up his notes. John, on the other hand, headed straight for the kitchen to make two cups of tea. He handed Sherlock his mug, muttering a quiet threat of not spilling it over the laptop, before placing his own mug on the coffee table and sitting at the comfiest end of the sofa, leaning his back against the arm rest and folding his legs against his chest. He turns the tv on to BBC1 and sighs happily, his show hadn't started yet, there were still people falling off the _Total Wipeout_ course. He snuggles down into the worn sofa, nursing his tea, and daydreams until he hears Sherlock snap the laptop shut.

"Sorted it then?" John asks.

"Of course, tedious, as usual."

John chuckles quietly as Sherlock gets to his feet to drop the laptop and mug on the table. He perches at the other end of the sofa and looks at John, slowly inching further up the cushion.

John sighs and holds his arms open, "come here."

Sherlock smiles sheepishly and leans across, resting in between John's legs and wrapping his arms around his waist. He rests his head under John's chin and sighs contentedly. John rubs small, comforting circles on Sherlock's back and presses a kiss into the brown curls.

After fifteen minutes John hears quiet snoring. He shifts slightly and Sherlock snuffles against John’s collar bone. John smiles gently, “at least I’m going to be able to watch _Doctor Who_ in peace this week.”


	3. Watching a Movie

"What do you mean you've never seen Lord of the Rings?"

Sherlock shakes his head and mumbles his generic response of “dull”.

"You are going to sit on that sofa, you are going to watch the film, and you are going to enjoy it, okay?"

Sherlock grunts and hunches over his laptop.

"Don't be such a child," John spits, putting the DVD in the player with a little more force than necessary. He marches to Sherlock and grabs his shoulders to push him onto the sofa, "you haven't had a case in four days, you might find you like it," _and having you interested in films might save the walls from their weekly pounding_ , he thinks.

He sits beside Sherlock on the sofa and pulls Sherlock’s legs across his own. Sherlock looks at him curiously.

"So you can't escape," John uses the remote to find the menu, "if I have hold of your legs it means you won't be able to make a run for it—"

"And if I need to go to the toilet?"

"You won't. Now shush, it's starting."

Sherlock lets out a quiet grumble, but stops when John gives his thigh a warning squeeze.

They sit in complete silence; John keeps one eye on Sherlock, just in case he tries to move. By the halfway point, however, Sherlock is mesmerised by the world of hobbits, dwarves and elves, his eyes glowing in a similar way as they did when he had the case on the serial suicides.

John smirks, _John 1 Sherlock 0_.

When the film finishes, John turns to look at Sherlock expectantly. He's met with the face of a five year old at Christmas. He smirks, "enjoy it then?"

Sherlock is silent for a moment, before starting to babble "is that it? What happened? They still have the ring don't they? I thought—" he looks at John, "I don't understand."

John chuckles and lifts Sherlock's legs so he can stand up. He picks up the second DVD and waves it in the air, "want to watch some more? There's another two."

Sherlock nods quickly.

John puts the second DVD in and presses play. He sits back down, and as the opening credits begin to roll, puts his legs over Sherlock's and snuggles into his side. In turn, Sherlock wraps his arms around John's waist.

Just before the film starts, John speaks, "does this mean you'll take me to see _The Hobbit_ in December?"


	4. On a date

It's an unusually quiet afternoon at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock isn't bored and has an interesting experiment going. John updates his blog and catches up with his emails. They sit in comfortable silence, Sherlock occasionally picking up his violin and playing a few notes, before losing interest and going to find something else to do while he waits for the experiment’s results.

When John's stomach gives a loud growl in the early evening, he closes the laptop, rubs his face and starts making his way to the kitchen to find some food. Sherlock intercepts him at the door by launching himself across the room and wrapping his arms around John's shoulders, pulling him backwards.

"No, John," he pushes him towards the front door, "we're going out tonight."

"What? You said there were no cases today—"

Sherlock interrupts him, "no, not a case. I'm taking you out for dinner. Now put your coat on and let's go."

John gawps and points at the gently bubbling concoction on their kitchen table, “but your thing.”

"Come on," Sherlock has John's coat, holding it open for him.

"You’re taking me out for dinner?" Sherlock nods. "No ulterior motive?" He nods again. "I won't have to leave my pasta half eaten?" Nod. "Just me and you?"

"For goodness sake, John. Yes. Now let's go," Sherlock shakes the jacket at him, "unless you'd rather stay here and I go out by myself?"

" _Okay_ , fine, thank you. Let's go."

John finds his phone and wallet already in his coat pocket and he follows Sherlock down the stairs and down onto the street where they hail a taxi. Sherlock doesn't tell John where they're going, although, John has already worked it out.

Angelo greets them with his usual gusto, bringing across extra wine 'for the happy couple'. John looks at Sherlock curiously; they'd agreed to only tell a few people about their involvement for now. Sherlock smiles in return, "he’s very perceptive."

They eat their pasta and talk about what they were planning for the rest of the week, falling into their usual banter.

John doesn't complain when Angelo puts a candle on the table.

When they finally leave the restaurant, well after closing time, they find that the night air is still warm enough for John to leave his jacket open and for Sherlock to leave his scarf hanging from his pocket. They decide to walk home, finally able to enjoy the London sights and sounds peacefully without being on the tail of some criminal. Their hands brush and they fall into a companionable quiet.

Eventually, Sherlock speaks, "thank you, John. For letting me do this, it was," he pauses, "nice. I'd like to do this again."

John smirks and bumps their shoulders, "what is this, a business arrangement? How about next Tuesday at four? I'm free then.”

Sherlock grins, "I couldn't possibly make Tuesday; Friday is a much better day for me."

John stops walking and leans up to kiss Sherlock’s jaw, "sounds perfect."


	5. Kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are not part of a specific timeline. They can all be read separately and don't necessarily follow on from each other.  
> 

The first time Sherlock kissed John, they were at a crime scene. The second time, they were stood in the middle of a rainstorm.

The officers from Scotland Yard had set up a tent over the scene; Sherlock throws his phone from one hand to the other over and over again, staring at the body of a young man. He's trying to work out how he could have ended up on the docks of the Thames (a place he had no reason to be in) and there's something he's missed. One small detail he can't seem to pick up. He growls in frustration, "John!"

John sighs; rolling his eyes at Greg, and walks over to Sherlock. He can see how much Sherlock's mood had gone south since they'd arrived, so he decides to stay quiet, instead, raising his eyebrows in greeting.

Sherlock throws his phone at John, who only just manages to catch it, and tucks his hands under his chin in his usual prayer position. He chews on his lip and focuses his eyes on John.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" John stares back as he puts the phone in his pocket with his own.

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

John folds his arms across his chest and sighs loud enough for Sherlock to hear. He cocks his head to one side and purses his lips. He listens to the rain thudding against the plastic of the tent.

Sherlock's eyes start darting around John's face, as though the answer would somehow appear on John's skin. Finally, after what felt like hours, John speaks, "did he have any siblings? Close family? Girlfriend, boyfriend? Anything?"

"Oh," Sherlock's eyes widen and he grins, "oh! That's it! John, you're fantastic!" Sherlock leaps forward and grabs John's face, firmly planting a kiss on his lips. John struggles for a moment, suddenly aware of all the police officers staring at them. When he realises he has no chance of escaping the iron grip Sherlock has on the back of his head, John rests his hands on Sherlock's hips. Almost immediately Sherlock pulls away, his face slightly flushed, "I've got it! Lestrade, find this man's sister, she'll have all the answers."

He leans down and gives John another quick kiss before announcing, "we'll be off now, I'm sure your team have enough intelligence between them to not ruin this." He grabs John's hand and pulls him away to the main street and into the pouring rain.

John lets himself be pulled for a few metres before he digs his heels into the pavement, " _Sherlock_ , wait. Do you have any money on you?" Sherlock shakes his head, "Oyster card?"

"No, I thought you brought your wallet?"

"I thought you had yours. You're the one with huge pockets."

They stare at each other for a moment.

"How far away from Baker Street are we?"

Sherlock looks up at the surrounding buildings, squinting his eyes against the rain, "not too far. An hour's walk, maybe?"

John sighs and rolls his eyes, "fine, but if my leg starts acting up, you're carrying me, and you’d better hope this rain lets up."

Sherlock smirks as they continue walking. They don't talk much, the quiet is comfortable. After fifteen minutes the rain starts coming down harder and John quickly pulls Sherlock into a doorway for shelter, mumbling about getting even more drenched than they already are.

While they're waiting for the rain to go off a bit, Sherlock notices John’s shivering, so he pulls him close to his chest and wraps his coat around him. John protests at first, but quickly abandons that idea when he feels the warmth radiating from the inside of Sherlock’s coat.

They're silent for a few minutes.

"Why did you kiss me earlier?"

"Impulse, I suppose."

"Oh." John pauses for a few beats, "you're welcome to do it again, if you like."

Sherlock laughs lightly, "am I?"

John rests his face against Sherlock's collar, looking out onto the empty street, "of course," he gently knocks his knee against Sherlock's and looks up through his eyelashes, deciding to play the innocent card, "unless, you're having second thoughts?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sherlock dips his head just enough to catch John's lips again. This time, the kiss is a lot gentler. They slowly get used to the shape of each other's mouths, their faces angled perfectly; Sherlock finds that their height difference is just right.

When they eventually break apart, John looks out onto the street to see the rain has settled down to a light drizzle, "we should go home," he mutters.

Sherlock looks down before making direct eye contact with John, "are you sure you want a relationship with me?"

John blinks, "of course. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"People will talk," Sherlock mumbles against John's hair.

"They do little else."


	6. Wearing each other's clothes

John had only gone out to get some bread and milk. When he got home he found Sherlock curled into a ball on the sofa, his coat draped over his shoulders. John goes straight to the kitchen to put away the shopping and speaks over his shoulder, knowing Sherlock will be able to hear him, "a bit cold, are we?"

Sherlock lifts his head and grumbles, hair sticking out in odd directions. He throws off his coat when John enters the living room and starts pacing and muttering about how the boiler had broken and wouldn't be fixed until Tuesday, but John had stopped listening as soon as Sherlock had stood up, instead he's busy looking at what Sherlock is wearing.

"Are you wearing my jumper?" He interrupts Sherlock’s monologue.

Sherlock eyes him suspiciously, "you're wearing my scarf."

John laughs, "well, you look ridiculous."

"Says the man who wears them every day. They’re warm."

"Yes, but at least they actually fit me. They can’t keep you warm when the sleeves are halfway up your arms."

Sherlock smiles sweetly, "your turn."

"What?"

"Why are you wearing my scarf?"

"Oh, um," John looks down at the scarf, "it was cold and this was all I could find. I lost mine last week. I can see why you wear it so much, it's really warm."

Sherlock picks up his coat and drapes it over John's shoulders. He folds his arms and grins. John raises his eyebrows and chuckles, pulling gently at the hem of the jumper Sherlock had stolen and rubs his knuckle against the pale skin where it had ridden up, "if anyone saw us right now."

Sherlock grins in return, "now, about the heating…"


	7. Cosplaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on my own experience of cosplaying in London.  
> The expo is supposed to be MCM Expo but I think they've changed the name of it to London ComicCon or something in the time since this was originally written?

"I'm not wearing that."

"Yes you are. It's for a case, John!"

John looks at the outfit Sherlock had laid out for him on their bed.

"You really can't expect me to wear this. In public," he rubs his face and groans.

Sherlock walks through the door of the bedroom wearing a purple top, red scarf and tan jacket, "I am, I see no reason why you shouldn't. Where we're going, we'll blend right in."

John's jaw drops, "is that—"

"Shut up."

"Merlin?"

"Quiet."

"That explains the armour. So you have been paying attention to my shows."

Sherlock huffs quietly, "of course I know about popular media, John. I'm not oblivious to everything, you know."

John raises his eyebrows and eyes the costume again, "so, where exactly are we going?"

Sherlock searches his outfit for a place to put his phone, "the Excel centre at Custom House. We'll take the tube. Apparently there's some kind of expo going on. I was hired to return something to a girl, who I'm told is going to be there all day."

John sighs and starts putting on the costume, "you seriously owe me for this."

[][][]

John gawps when they get off the tube. There are literally hundreds of people in costumes bustling around the train platform, "how do they get through London with those weapons without getting arrested?"

"Quite easily, the police are alerted and keep a close eye on them, just in case someone tries anything funny," the corner of his mouth quirks, "very few are real though, all extremely impressive replicas."

“You’re impressed by some of them, aren’t you?”

Sherlock snorts, “you wouldn’t believe the work that goes into a lot of these, John. Now come, we have a girl to find.”

They follow the crowd to the main plaza. Sherlock finds the highest place on the steps and turns his attention to the crowd, clearly looking for someone specific. John shuffles his feet awkwardly, trying to avoid the gazes of people walking past. Some of them stop and point their cameras towards them, occasionally shouting "I love you!" in their direction.

Sherlock suddenly points to a girl wearing a very short skirt and a long turquoise wig, talking animatedly to a group of people similarly dressed, "her."

John pulls at his armour to make it more comfortable, "okay, now what?"

Sherlock pulls a phone out of his jacket, "I have to return this."

He sets off at a fast walk, John clumsily following.

Sherlock taps her shoulder. She turns and eyes them curiously before grinning, "ohmigosh I love your cosplays! That's one of my favourite shows!"

Sherlock gets straight to the point, "I'd like to return your phone. It was handed in to the police last week and they asked me to return it to you. Afternoon." He turns quickly and marches away before she can reply.

John nods at her and runs to catch up, the costume not helping, "so we came here, in these outfits, for that?"

Sherlock grins and pulls off his red scarf, "not quite. I was actually hired to return the phone. The costumes weren't entirely necessary though; I just wanted to see you in that armour."


	8. Shopping

"You're coming to Asda with me. You need to choose what food you want this week. I'm sick of you complaining that I got the wrong brand of beans or the wrong type of tea."

Sherlock sinks into the sofa, trying to make himself as small as he can.

"And don't even try talking your way out of this one; you know the big eyes don't work on me anymore."

Sherlock curls in on himself even more, like he's trying to disappear completely.

John grabs Sherlock's coat and scarf from the back of the door and throws them onto the seat next to him on the sofa, "I'm going to find my wallet and the shopping list, and you’d better be ready when I get back."

Sherlock huffs quietly. John rolls his eyes and heads towards the bedroom. When he makes his way back into the living room, Sherlock (and his coat) have disappeared.

He groans, "Sherlock, I'm not playing games."

Sherlock calls from the kitchen, kneeling on the counter with his head in the cupboard, "who said I was playing a game? I'm trying to decide what I want."

"Well, hurry up then, the shops'll be closing soon."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I may not go there often, but I do know the supermarket is open twenty-four hours."

 _Damn_ , John thinks,  _of course he would know._

"Just hurry up anyway; I don't want to be there all night."

Sherlock emerges from the kitchen wearing his coat and scarf, already looking bored. 

 

 _This is going to be a long trip_ , John sighs.

They hail a taxi across town to the supermarket.

While John gets a trolley, Sherlock lingers at the entrance, glaring down anyone who looked at him for too long and silently deducing the people standing around. When John catches up he takes one look at Sherlock and says, in a mocking, child's voice, "does grumpy Sherlock want to sit in the trolley?"

"No."

John laughs at his own joke and claps Sherlock on the shoulder, "lighten up Sherlock, we won't be long. It's only a week's worth of shopping."

They make their way around the supermarket, John easily finding the things they need, Sherlock occasionally darting off to look at something that catches his interest.

 _It's like shopping with a five year old_ , John thinks,  _maybe_ _I should have made him sit in the trolley, it would be less hassle._

They get to the checkout without incident, but with a few extras John hadn't intended to get, thanks to Sherlock.

When they get home, John takes the bags into the kitchen and starts unpacking. Meanwhile, Sherlock flops onto the sofa, still wearing his coat.

John finishes taking everything out of the bags and shuffles into the living room, carrying two cups of tea, when he sees Sherlock, still sprawled on the sofa, "what's wrong? Did a little walk around the shop tire you out that much?"

"Not at all."

"Then why—"

"I'm never doing that again."

"And why not?"

"It was boring."

John snorts, "shut up and drink your tea."


	9. Hanging out with friends

John and Sherlock are very careful when it comes to telling people about their relationship. They don't want any old person to know, it could be easily used against them if someone knew they had become each other’s pressure point, so they decide on a small list of people they both consider as friends.

* * *

John met with Greg in a pub and told him over a pint. Sherlock stayed home with the excuses of 'too many people in pubs' and ‘my pickled fingers need seeing to’. Before John had managed to get the sentence out of his mouth, Greg was already grinning over his glass.

"I know."

"How? We've been careful."

"I know Sherlock well, and I like to think I know you too. It was pretty obvious to me, you don’t have to worry about the others, they don’t notice these things."

John shakes his head and laughs, taking a pull of his drink.

Greg cocks his head to the side and gives John a sly smile, "and I saw you snogging him in an alleyway last week when you were supposed to be chasing down that burglar."

John coughs and turns bright red.

* * *

They told Mrs Hudson together by inviting her up for tea. She clasps her hands together and looks between them fondly, "you do know I'm going to have to show you boys off now, Mrs Turner will be so happy."

Later, John and Sherlock are called in by Lestrade. Before they leave John pulls Mrs Hudson to the side and whispers, "you already knew, didn't you?"

"Of course I did."

"But how?" John is perplexed; they'd made a lot of effort to be quiet when they knew she would be home.

"I know these things, dear," she says with a wink, "and just remember that the walls are thin," before scooping up the dishes and heading down to her own kitchen.

* * *

When they invited Mycroft round, he took one look at them both and smirked before turning and leaving again.

Later that evening, Sherlock received a text, "Remember to call me for the wedding MH"

Sherlock threw his phone at the sofa and would never admit that his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

* * *

Telling Molly was handled very carefully, she still had a bit of a thing for Sherlock, so they went to Bart's together specially. John wouldn't let Sherlock go alone, in fear of what he might say to the poor girl. Surprisingly, she took it quite well. She smiled sweetly and wished them both luck.

* * *

Sherlock texted Irene, he thought she ought to know. He smiled fondy at the very short reply, "About time IA x"


	10. Animal ears

It had been a long day and John was exhausted. First off, the surgery had been busy, second, there had been almost apocalyptic rain all day, and finally, he had left his coat at work, which held his wallet with money for a cab and his Oyster Card. All of these things added up to John stalking through the streets of London and to him being in a horrible mood by the time he arrived home.

He slams the front door and kicks off his shoes, and begins to squelch up the stairs. Dumping his bag by the door he flops onto the sofa and presses his face into the cushions, almost immediately falling asleep.

Sherlock arrives home half an hour later and leaves his umbrella in the kitchen to dry. He steps into the living room, just about to call John's name, when he finds him asleep, cuddling a cushion with his still damp hair sticking up like he’d just run his hands through it. He pauses in the middle of the room for a moment. Then, he smirks and shrugs his coat off before kneeling next to where John's head is resting.

_Sound asleep._

Sherlock grins and pulls John's hair, lifting one or two sections to see if they stay where he puts them.

They do.

Sherlock chuckles quietly to himself and starts systematically moving the hair. After five minutes he smiles and stands, happy with his work. Picking up his laptop, he settles into his armchair to wait for John to wake up.

One hour later, John begins to stir, grumbling about being cold and wet. He sees Sherlock looking far too pleased with himself for John’s liking. He narrows his eyes.

"What have you done?"

Sherlock blinks.

"You look guilty. What have you done?" John yawns and pulls at his jumper, pulling a face at the damp and heavy material.

"Why do you think I look guilty? I've done nothing wrong," Sherlock says smoothly, closing the laptop.

John mumbles and stands up to stretch when he glances in the mirror and snorts. Sherlock bites his lip and looks down to stop himself from laughing.

" _Sherlock_. Why?”

"You were asleep and wouldn’t wake up. How could I not?"

John's hair is mostly flat, which is unusual, since usually after sleeping it ends up a mess, except, two flicks, one on either side of his head, resembling a pair of animal ears. He shakes his head and lets out a breath of a laugh. Sherlock stands behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, ignoring the wet clothes. He rests his nose in the back of John's hair.

John shakes his head, "I hate you."

Sherlock kisses John's neck, "no, you don't."


	11. Wearing kigurumis

John couldn't help but burst out laughing when he opened his Christmas present from his sister. Sherlock had looked on quietly, fiddling with his new phone, given to him by Mycroft. He drops it when he hears John's laughter and pulls his eyebrows together.

John pulls two kigurumi onesie suits out of the box on the table, bringing about another wave of whooping laughter. He sees that they each have a name tag on. One is a hedgehog-esque creature with a tag simply reading, "To John, Love Harry x"

The other is an otter, whose tag reads, "John, you'd better make Sherlock wear this, send photos please. Harry x"

Impossibly, Sherlock's eyebrows knit even further together, "I'm not wearing that."

"Come on, it'll be a laugh," John touches the fleecey material, "no one'll see you."

Sherlock just gives him a 'I don't think so' look and goes back to his phone.

John steps into the living room later that night, wearing his onesie over the top of his pyjamas.

"Put yours on Sherlock, it's really warm," John throws up the hood and grins.

"I'm quite warm enough in my dressing gown, thank you John."

John shuffles over to Sherlock and grabs his hands, pulling at them like a child, "ten minutes? For me?"

Sherlock sighs, "five."

"Deal."

He stands and shrugs off his dressing gown. John smiles, quietly happy with himself, and sits on the sofa, pulling his legs up and hugging his knees. He watches as Sherlock picks up the otter from where John had left it earlier and examines it. Sighing, he puts it on over his pyjamas and turns to John, "happy now?"

"And the hood."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and puts the hood up. He holds his arms out in a 'Well?' gesture.

John puts his feet back on the floor and opens his arms. Sherlock sits next to him so John can wrap his arms around him. He leans back and gives Sherlock a light squeeze and a kiss on the end of his nose.

"See? Nice and warm."

"It's not too bad," he replies, leaning into John's side.


	12. Making out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I suck at this kind of thing  
> I'm just going to stick with writing fluff from now on

John and Sherlock are at their fifth crime scene in four hours. Sherlock is, as usual, ignoring everyone around them, entirely focused on the serial burglaries. Lestrade takes his officers over to his car, to discuss what to do next, leaving John and Sherlock to talk between themselves (not that Sherlock is in a talkative mood).

They stand quietly for a moment until John decides to break it. He puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, "we've barely spoken in the last week, Sherlock. You never get like this on a case—"

Sherlock grunts and shrugs off John’s hand, turning his back. John glances at the Yarders, making sure none of them are watching. He grabs Sherlock's scarf and pulls him into the nearest alleyway. John may be shorter than Sherlock, but he's definitely stronger, and is able to push him against the wall and crowd up into his space.

"John, what—"

John has grabs Sherlock’s lapels and pulls him down to press their lips together. Initially, Sherlock’s eyes widen, but he quickly gets the idea and starts to kiss back, resting his hands on John’s waist. John goes on his toes to hold the back of Sherlock’s neck and presses their chests together. They find an angle satisfactory to them both and introduce their tongues.

Sherlock's hands drift down to cup John’s arse. One wriggles into his trousers and squeezes him through the fabric of his pants. He hums into the kiss, "the red ones, John? You haven't worn these in a while."

"I only wear them because I know you like them so much," John purrs, moving his lips against Sherlock's neck, "and I was hoping you would finish this case today and feel the need to celebrate."

Sherlock hums an affirmation and presses their lips together again. He pulls John even closer and moans when John gently slots their hips together.

Lestrade's bark brings them back to the real world and, reluctantly, they pull away from each other, not wanting to be charged with public indecency by Greg of all people. John rearranges Sherlock's scarf and giggles, "having a quick snog with my boyfriend in an alleyway, I feel like a teenager again." He squeezes Sherlock’s shoulder, “in a better mood now, are we?”

Sherlock smiles gently and presses a kiss against John’s forehead.

John glances out to where the Yarders had reappeared, " we'd better go back out there before they wonder where we are and come looking."

"Or we could make a run for home?"

John blinks slowly.

"I was in a bad mood to start with and solved the case hours ago; I was hoping there would be something else of interest, but alas," he shrugs, “I can text Lestrade later.”

"You are unbelievable," John grins.


	13. Eating ice cream

Sometimes, John manages to convince Sherlock to take a walk around the park. It often takes a lot of convincing on John's part, but Sherlock eventually gives in and agrees to go.

They wander side by side, hands brushing and enjoying the unusually warm autumnal air, when John suddenly pushes Sherlock to sit on a bench.

"Wait here," John grins before dashing back off down the path they'd just come from.

Sherlock obediently stays put, pulling out his phone to check for anything of interest. Nothing. He sighs and leans back to watch the people making their way through the park. Children with parents, people on their way home from work, couples giggling and holding hands, cyclists, joggers. He casts his eyes down and squeezes his eyes shut before his mind can start running too fast. He slowly opens them again to stare at the leaves by his feet.

Within five minutes, John returns, holding two ice cream cones and looking rather pleased with himself. He smiles, "surprise," as he passes the cone holding the mint ice cream over to Sherlock, keeping the strawberry for himself.

"I know it's not exactly ice cream weather, but that new sweet shop opened the other day and I really wanted to try it. It's homemade."

"How did you know I like mint?"

John sits next to him on the bench and winks, "the science of deduction, of course."

Sherlock narrows his eyes.

“I knew from the set of your mouth whenever we pass anywhere that sells ice cream?”

“John.”

He licks a drip of strawberry from the cone and nudges Sherlock’s elbow, "I just know these things about you."

Sherlock pulls a face, "but _how_?"

"Shut up and eat your ice cream, Sherlock."


	14. Genderswapped

For the first few weeks they live together, Sherlock and Joan’s lives knit together quite well.

When Sherlock first introduces her to Lestrade, he is amused by the difference between the two women. Sherlock, who he known for several years (and pulled out of several rough spots), has always been tall and glamorous in her long coat, Louboutins, short curly hair and wearing the air of a model. But then there was Joan, a shorter, cuddlier woman, comfortable in her thick cardigans and jeans, her blonde-brown hair in a short pixie cut.

Joan is loyal from the start, helping Sherlock with cases. The first time they end up chasing someone through London is an experience Joan wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

* * *

“Come along, there’s a criminal to catch.” Sherlock grins manically, eyes twinkling and teeth a startling contrast against her red lipstick. She kicks off her shoes and throws them to Lestrade with a bark of, “you know where to leave them”, and climbs on top of a bin, hitches up her skirt and hops over the fence.

Joan sighs, thankful she’d worn her boots today, “you’ll ladder your bloody tights if you aren’t careful,” she yells, pulling herself up onto the bin and leaping over the fence after Sherlock. She doesn’t land quite as gracefully as Sherlock, but manages to stay on her feet and run fast enough to catch up.

Sherlock had already halted at the end of the alleyway and appeared to be working out which way to go. Joan laughs, “the whole of Scotland Yard just saw your pants, Sherlock.”

“Not the first time,” she mumbles back, eyes darting around the street, “they’ve all seen me in a number of… compromising positions.”

Joan snorts, “I should have known. How many pairs of tights do you go through on a case? I should have brought some spares for you.”

Sherlock glances down at her already ruined, muddy tights, “oh, I don’t usually change them. I just wait until I get home.”

“Really? People take you seriously when you’re not wearing shoes and your tights are all torn up?”

Sherlock smiles lopsidedly, “of course not,” before darting off in a seemingly random direction, her coat billowing dramatically. Joan can’t help but follow.

They manage to catch the criminal by midnight, handing him over to Lestrade and  quickly flagging down a taxi to go home. Sherlock stops the taxi at Northumberland Street, a quick “wait here,” aimed at the driver, and grabs Joan’s hand, pulling her out of the taxi and towards a closed restaurant, the same one she’d taken her to that first night.

“What are we doing here? Everywhere is closed, Sherlock.”

Sherlock ignores Joan and bangs her fist against the door Angelo’s three times. It almost immediately opens to reveal the same grinning man, holding Sherlock’s shoes.

“Thank you Angelo, it’s much appreciated, as usual,” Sherlock says smiling widely. She motions in Joan’s direction as she puts the shoes on, “you remember Doctor Joan Watson?”

Joan mutters, “hi,” wobbling slightly as Sherlock rests a hand on her shoulder, using her for balance to put her shoes back on.

Angelo smiles in return, “have a nice night; I’m sure I’ll be seeing the pair of you again soon.” He closes the door, and Joan hears it lock again. Once she sees that Sherlock is stable on her heels, she pulls Joan away back to the taxi.

Before they get into the car, Sherlock holds the door closed and coughs, “are you sure you want to get involved with this? The cases? With me? It’s not too late to duck out.”

The corner of Joan’s mouth tilts up, “you said dangerous, and here I am. I’m sure your genius brain can work that out.” She pushes Sherlock into the taxi before getting in herself, leaning over to the driver, “Baker Street, please. 221 Baker Street.”


	15. In a different clothing style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I teen!locked all over this prompt  
> I don't care I love it

When the school bell rings at four o clock, most of the students file out to go home, chattering to their friends or on the phone to their parents. Not John Watson, he marches out of the front door and makes a beeline for behind the science block, where Sherlock Holmes is leaning against the wall, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck and his tie hanging out of his bag. He has a cigarette in between his lips and appears to be deep in thought, occasionally throwing glares in the direction of year sevens collecting their bikes.

"Sherlock," he growls, marching straight up to him, "how many times have I told you?" He snatches the cigarette out of Sherlock's hand and throws it on the floor, stubbing it out with his foot, "it's not good for you."

Sherlock grumbles under his breath, "that was my last one," before John continues his rant.

"You skipped your last lesson. Again. You're going to get kicked out of this damn school," he pauses to glance at the smoke curling from Sherlock’s mouth, "where do you even get those from?"

Sherlock shuffles his feet like a child who’s just been told off, "Mycroft."

"He just… gives you them? What does your mum say?"

"Of course not, he was being annoying so I stole them. Didn't want them to go to waste, and she doesn't know."

John rubs his face and sighs, dumping his bag from his shoulder next to Sherlock's on the floor, he watches as the last bike is wheeled away around the corner. Once they're alone, John folds his arms and eyes Sherlock's messy uniform, the unbuttoned blazer and shirt, missing tie and Vans, "I swear, if you get kicked out of here—"

"I can assure you, John, mummy would never allow that to happen."

John snorts, "why am I even friends with you?"

Sherlock leans forward and hooks a finger under John's tie, pulling him closer. He smirks, "friends? I thought we passed that stage a long _long_ time ago."

John almost manages to keep a straight face, the corner of his mouth twitching barely noticeable. Sherlock, of course, spots it, and takes it as an invitation to tug at John's tie again and press their lips together.

John wrinkles his nose and leans away, "you smell and taste like an ashtray."

"So?" Sherlock steps closer, pulling at the hem of John's worn cardigan.

"I'm not doing this in the science block. Let's go back to yours and see if you can change my mind, after you've changed your clothes and brushed your teeth. You know I hate it."

Sherlock makes a disgruntled noise and drops to the floor to pick up their bags. He grabs John's hand and starts to walk, pulling him along behind him, "Home? Yes. Change of clothes? We'll see."


	16. During their morning rituals

John usually wakes up with Sherlock wrapped around him, an iron grip on John’s chest and his curly head tucked under John’s chin. He manages to wriggle out of Sherlock's arms and sit up; throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He looks fondly at Sherlock, who is already gravitating towards the centre of the bed and clutching at John’s pillow, and smiles,  _to think I used to wake up without this._

Rubbing his face, John stands and stretches, quietly groaning when his joints pop. He shrugs on his dressing gown and pads to the bathroom to clean his teeth. He tries to make his hair lie flat, but gives up after a few minutes, leaving it sticking out in odd directions, and heads towards the kitchen to make his tea and toast.

He opens the newspaper from the previous day, mindlessly filling in the Sudoku while he eats his toast. When he finishes he dumps the plate in the sink and refills his mug and makes a new cup of tea before returning to bed. He sets Sherlock's mug on the bedside table and climbs back under the covers, dumping his dressing gown on the floor, and leans back against the headboard and pulls the duvet up around his hips.

John quietly sips at his tea until he can feel Sherlock nuzzling into his stomach. Smiling, he pets the brown curls until Sherlock pulls himself up and plucks the mug out of John's hands. He leans across John and places it on the bedside table as if to say,  _pay attention to me_.

John smiles and opens his arms, "ten more minutes, then up."

Sherlock smiles and sleepily nuzzles John's chest.

 _He's like a cat_ , John thinks, snuggling down into the pillows and pressing his nose into Sherlock's hair. 


	17. Spooning

John wakes up with a start when he feels a dip in the mattress and something warm press against his back. He feels curly hair brushing the back of his neck, without opening his eyes he mumbles, "finally decide to come to bed then? What time is it?”

"Just past five," Sherlock yawns, snuggling against John’s back.

John quietly grumbles, "go to sleep, I'll shout at you in the morning for staying up so late," and burrows back down into his pillows.

Hair tickles his neck again and he can feel Sherlock's arms wrap even tighter around his waist. His fingers grip the fabric of John’s t shirt. When Sherlock finally settles against his back, John sighs and rubs his face against the pillow and shifts his hips to get comfortable.

Within a few minutes, John hears Sherlock's breathing slow and even out. For a few moments, John stares out the window and listens to Sherlock's quiet breaths. He then lets his eyes shut and quickly follows Sherlock into sleep.

John wakes up in the morning with Sherlock’s arm still loosely draped over his waist. He glances over his shoulder to see Sherlock still asleep and breathing deeply. He’s snoring quietly and when he feels John move, Sherlock unconsciously holds him tighter. Slowly, his eyes open and he blearily blinks.

“Hey,” John whispers, turning under Sherlock’s arm to face him, “morning.”

Sherlock grunts and holds John tighter, “sleep.”

Laughing quietly, John rubs Sherlock’s back, “it’s after eleven. We have to get up.”

“No.”

John rolls his eyes and turns again to face out into the room, “half an hour, then up.”

“But it’s cold,” Sherlock whines.

“Then we can move this to the sofa, you know I don’t like staying in bed all day.”

Sherlock throws a leg over John’s hip and cuddles him closer, “fine.”


	18. Doing something together

John wipes the bead of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, "I thought I'd finally found something I'd be better at than you."

Sherlock smirks, twirling the squash racquet in his hand, "you also thought I'd never played before. I'm full of surprises. Come on, you still have a chance of beating me. You're only losing by six points."

"Give me a second to catch my breath, I’m not as young as you," John teases.

Sherlock chuckles and swans back onto the court. He starts to warm up the ball by rallying it against the wall. John takes a sip of water and rolls his dominant shoulder. The sweat is pouring off him, but he challenged Sherlock to this match and he's determined to win. Stretching his arms, he follows Sherlock, "so, how many points do I need to beat you? We're playing to eleven, right?"

"Oh, you’ve won five games, compared to my nine."

"I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face, Holmes. Pass the ball, it's my serve."

Sherlock throws it towards John, who catches it easily and taps it with his racquet a few times. Once satisfied that Sherlock hadn't poked a hole in it or sabotaged it, he moves to the serving position and looks towards his partner, "ready?"

"Have been for ages."

John laughs as he serves, it flies over Sherlock's head and he just misses returning it.

A smug smile crosses John’s face, "what was that about being better than me?"

Sherlock pouts and moves to the other side of the court, knocking the ball towards John, "you got lucky, get on with it."

John smirks and goes to serve again.

He loses the next two points.

Before Sherlock serves he grins, "so, whoever wins has to do whatever the other wants for the next week. Deal?"

"I do everything for you anyway, but you're on."

John almost catches up with Sherlock, but ends up losing by one point.

"Well, it looks like you're going to be doing my bidding for the next seven days," Sherlock smiles, twirling the racquet in his hand.

John sighs and rubs his face, "great."

Sherlock pulls John close to him with an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss against John’s temple. They go back to the changing rooms to change their shoes and don their coats.

"Don't get smug," John says, shrugging on his jacket.

"I wouldn't think of it."

When they get out onto the street, Sherlock raises one hand to a taxi waiting on the main road, the other goes to hold John’s.

"If you’re going to have me running around after you for the next week then I call first shower when we get home.”

Sherlock pauses before climbing into the taxi, “oh John, who said anything about separate showers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a few people asking what they're playing and it's squash. Basically it's played in a square-ish room with two or four people and a very small black rubber ball. Kind of like tennis except the ball is rallied off the front wall instead of over a net. More information on squash [here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squash_\(sport\)) (One of the few sports I feel like I can write knowledgeably about)


	19. In formal wear

Sherlock pulls uncomfortably at his tie, grumbling under his breath.

"Stop it," John swats Sherlock's hand away from his collar, "we're not going to be here much longer, you might as well look marginally decent."

"I don't see why I have to look 'decent', John, they're my family. They stopped caring a long time ago."

John nudges Sherlock's shoulder, "are you serious? Your mum’s face lit up when you walked in and she saw you in that tux."

"No, she was smiling because I haven't been to the Holmes Christmas party since I left home nearly twenty years ago. It may have also been influenced by the fact I brought you with me. She's been dying to meet you, you know."

John glances over towards the infamous Mummy Holmes, elegant in a deep purple dress, her silver hair in a loose bun, "really?" John smirks, "she knows who your flatmate is?"

"Mycroft felt the need to inform her," Sherlock all but growls.

John laughs quietly and grabs a champagne flute, looking at the bubbling liquid closely. He takes a sip and looks up at Sherlock, whose face had turned to a grimace.

"What now?"

" _Mycroft_ just arrived."

John laughs again, "really? It's your family party, why wouldn't he be here?"

"Because, John, when I stopped attending, so did he. We visit mummy enough but we’d rather not be tied to the rest of them by anything other than name."

They stand in silence for a while. Sherlock glares at anyone who comes close while John downs the expensive champagne and quickly finds a second glass.  John clears his throat and speaks when he’s halfway through the second glass.

"You know, even though you wear those fancy suits almost every day, you really suit that tuxedo."

"I could say the same to you, John. Get rid of those jumpers, I'll put a word in with my tailor if you like," Sherlock jokes.

John bumps Sherlock's shoulder again, "hey, I love those jumpers, they keep me warm and I’ve never heard you complaining, _Mr Bad Circulation_.”

Sherlock laughs quietly and steals John’s glass to drink the remainder of the champagne.

* * *

_Continued in day 20: dancing_


	20. Dancing

_Continued from day 19: in formal wear_

* * *

John quietly sips at his new glass of champagne, after Sherlock stole he remainder of his last, and watches the refined members of the Holmes family move around the hall. The what-was faint music suddenly picks up and pale fingers appear in front of John’s face. He eyes the owner of the hand suspiciously, "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Stop being dull, John. I'm inviting you to dance."

"I don't know how to dance."

"Good thing you'll be with me," Sherlock plucks the glass from John's hand and places it on a nearby table beside his own, "you're a very good mimic and I had dancing lessons until my early twenties. You’ll be fine.”

John sighs, "do I have any choice in the matter?"

"No."

"Fine," John slides his hand into Sherlock's and lets himself be guided into the middle of the room. John sees Sherlock's mother wave away the person she had been talking to, directing her attention to her youngest son. He looks around the rest of the room and sees two of Sherlock's cousins eyeing the mismatched pair curiously. Finally, he lays eyes on Mycroft who is watching on with a smug smile.

"Put your hand on my shoulder, it'll be easier if I lead."

John realises that they're in the centre of the room and quickly follows Sherlock's instructions, "are you sure about this?"

"Of course," Sherlock smiles, "keep your head up and follow me."

John does as he is told and smiles when Sherlock twirls him with the ease of a trained dancer. They gracefully make their way across the floor and John is thankful that his partner is agile enough to avoid having his toes stood on too many times. The music finishes and Sherlock glances over to his mother, who is grinning, gently dabbing at happy tears. His cheeks flush pink and he grabs John's hand to pull him back into the quietest corner of the room.

"I see you kept up the lessons, brother dear."

Mycroft had silently appeared beside Sherlock, the smug look still painted on his features.

"Like you didn’t know," Sherlock spits.

"I ought to tell you, Mummy is very impressed. I expect she'll want both of you to stay for New Year."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "we're leaving tonight. She wanted to meet John and she will get her wish momentarily, then we'll be going home to Baker Street."

"So be it, don't blame me for any…" he pauses, "repercussions of your actions."

Sherlock grunts and rests his hand on the small of John's back, signalling him to walk and to guide him in the direction of his mother.


	21. Cooking

"Sherlock? You home?" John opens the door to the living room of 221b, clutching two ASDA bags fit to burst. He sees Sherlock lying on the sofa, upside down, head resting on the coffee table and legs hanging over the back. His cheeks are pink, very telling of how long he’d been sat like that.

"Obviously," Sherlock grumbles, "when did you leave?"

John drops the bag on the kitchen table, "about three hours ago, when you were thinking, why?"

"Oh," Sherlock lifts his head and brings his legs round to plant his feet on the floor, he wobbles slightly, "it's Sunday, isn't it? You never go out on Sundays."

John chuckles as he begins to empty the contents of the bag onto the table, "I don't live on a specific timetable, you know."

"Yes, you do."

John just tuts in response, "fine, I have a vague kind of timetable, alright? Though, living with you means it doesn't always happen, does it? We needed food so I went and bought some. Happy?"

Sherlock raises his eyebrows and stands. He pads through into the kitchen and drapes himself over John's back, "what did you buy?"

"Well, I thought that since you haven't had a case in a few days, and it's unlikely you'll be getting one today—"

"Why won't I get one today?"

"Greg went to visit his family and do you honestly believe Dimmock will ask you for help after last time?"

Sherlock shrugs.

"I thought you'd like to try something new."

Sherlock winds his arms around John's waist and rests his chin on John's good shoulder, "with eggs, milk, and- are those multi-coloured sprinkles?"

"Mm, I can see why you’re London’s top detective. Baking cakes will be fun. It'll stop you from being bored."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock steps away and perches on the counter, folding his arms against his chest.

"Come on, humour me. You might enjoy it."

John pulls a bowl out from the cupboard and cracks two eggs into it. He pulls out a bag labelled 'Cake Mix' from the pile of shopping and cuts it open to pour into the bowl. He sets it beside the sink and waves a hand at Sherlock, "stir that."

Sherlock raises his eyebrow and crosses his ankles, "cheater."

"What?"

"Ready-made cake mix, John? Even _I_ know how to make a cake without that," he jumps down and picks up the whisk, eyeing it carefully.

John bumps his hip against Sherlock's, "shut up. It's quicker and they taste alright."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and begins to whisk the mix, flicking his wrist like a professional cook. John ends up putting the milk down to stare, "where did you learn to do that?"

"Mummy was a fan of cooking when we were younger and taught Mycroft and I from a young age. Why do you think Mycroft is always on a diet? We both love to cook, and consequently when you make something, you end up eating it."

"But you don't eat—"

"Just because I don't eat regularly, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it when I do. It… relaxes me somewhat; it's a bit like chemistry."

When John pulls a face Sherlock elaborates, "You put things together, heat it up and wait for a reaction. In this case we get cakes at the end.”

"I never thought about it like that."

"Do think outside the box, John."

Smiling, John shakes his head and measures out the milk. He carefully adds it as Sherlock stirs, and soon they have a creamy mixture. They spoon it into the cake cases John had laid out earlier and shove them into the oven.

"Okay, check those in half an hour," John stands with his hands on his hips, proud of their work. When he turns he laughs, "Sherlock, are you eating the mix?"

Looking scandalised, Sherlock quickly puts the bowl and spoon down, licking a little bit of the leftover mix from his lips, "no."

"Liar, you have it on your nose. At least share," John says raising a hand to wipe Sherlock’s scrunched up face, "nothing better than the stuff they put in ice cream than the actual mix itself."

They lean against each other; armed with tea spoons, and clean the bowl. When they're almost finished, Sherlock licks his spoon and sets it aside, "can I decorate them?"

"What? Did your mum teach you how to ice things too?"

"No. That was grandmother. Mummy was the cook and grandmother was the baker."

John chuckles, "you still surprise me. Now come on, if you help me tidy up you can decorate them."

John has never seen Sherlock move so fast.


	22. Side-by-side in battle

“Left! Left, Sherlock, left!” John shouts.

Sherlock follows John’s instructions, cursing under his breath.

“Okay, go. Go! Hurry, they’re going to catch up.”

“I’m trying,” Sherlock spits, his frustration growing quickly.

“Okay, wait a second, hide here.”

Sherlock fidgets as they hide, “can we go now? They’re gone, we can go.”

Sherlock leaps from his hiding place, greeted by Princess Peach’s frying pan and the game over screen. He groans and puts his controller to his feet, “you said this would be easy.”

“I thought you’d be good at fighting games, hand-eye co-ordination and all that.” John is met with a glare, “oh come on, Smash Brothers isn’t  _that_  difficult.”

Sherlock nudges the controller with his toe and rolls his eyes.

Sighing, John throws his controller onto Sherlock’s lap and goes into the kitchen to click on the kettle.

Mrs Hudson had found the old GameCube in storage. Deciding she wouldn’t have much use for it, and shops gave very little money for them, she gave it to Sherlock and John thinking they might get more use enjoyment out of it than she would. John had immediately gone out to buy games, and had managed to pick up several both he and Sherlock would enjoy fairly cheap.

From the kitchen, John can hear Sherlock fiddling with the game.

“Do you want another go at the team game or shall we try the melee?” He shouts through.

A mumbled, “try again” floats through over the sound of clinking mugs.

John brings the teas into the living room and sets them on the table. He shuffles back down onto the sofa next to Sherlock and, leaning into Sherlock’s side, plucks the controller out of hands and starts setting the game up, “you want to be Mewtwo again?”

“It’ll do.”

John quickly sets his character as Dr Mario and begins the game, “follow my instructions this time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Sherlock snorts.

The game starts again and John can already see Sherlock improving.

When they successfully finish a game Sherlock grins, “look at that John, 10 KOs. And you said I was bad that this game. Practise makes perfect.”

“Don’t get cocky; the computer characters were on the easy setting.”

“Bring it on.”

John laughs and presses a quick kiss to Sherlock’s jaw.


	23. Arguing

Much to Sherlock’s delight, John had been sleeping in his own room less and less, and thus, more often than not Sherlock would find him tucked into his own bed.

Much to John’s delight, his sleeping in Sherlock’s bed meant that Sherlock slept more often and he slowly helped him build up a regular sleeping schedule, both waking up in each other’s warm embrace feeling well rested

The only issue John has with Sherlock’s room is that it’s messy compared to his own military standard room. Sherlock’s clothes strewn about and certain experiments John had banned from the kitchen sit on the dresser. When asked about the mess Sherlock shrugged and said he cleans when he needs something.

‘ _Everything is in its place_ ,’ Sherlock would insist when John complained or tried to move things.

John accepted it, though he wasn’t all too happy.

One day while searching for the partner sock to the one he was wearing, he found some mould samples shoved under the bed. He had opened one, only to be greeted by the smell of vomit. He sighs and shoves it back, carefully resealed, and moves other boxes and containers out of the way continuing his search for the sock.

When he reaches the wall, John finds a patch of mould on the floorboards, smelling suspiciously like the jar he’d just opened.

“That’s disgusting,” he coughs into his sleeve.

He quickly gives up and storms into the kitchen to wash his hands with disinfectant and to gargle water. He angrily pulls on his jacket and stomps down the stairs, bumping into Sherlock in the main entryway.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock says, leaning close to greet him with a kiss.

John squirms out of his reach, and marches out of the door, “out.”

“Where _out_?”

John is halfway down the street already, curled fists held close to his body. Sherlock frowns.

Sherlock lies in bed alone that night. He hears John trudging up the stairs to his own room not long after midnight and listens to the groan of John’s mattress when he settles down. He rolls over, running through everything he could have done to make John upset.

 

_Continued in day: 24, making up_


	24. Making up after arguing

_Continued from: day 25, arguing_

John looks into the living room mirror the next morning, fixing his tie and trying to make his hair lay flat. Sherlock rushes out of his room when he hears John putting on his shoes and grabs his hand to pull him to the sofa.

“What are you doing?” John growls, trying to pull away, “I don’t have time for this, I have work.”

Sherlock says nothing, gently pushing John’s shoulders until he sits in the middle of the sofa. He sits next to John, as close as he can, and shuffles until he’s almost on John’s lap. He tucks his face into John’s neck, mumbling into the material of John’s shirt.

John stops himself from putting an arm around Sherlock’s prone form, “what do you want?”

“I’m sorry. For whatever I did, I’m sorry.” Sherlock wraps his arms around John’s neck and buries his face again.

“What, Sherlock?” John leans back to look Sherlock in the eye, “what did you do? Why are you sorry?”

“You stormed out yesterday, I thought--” Sherlock starts.

“What? No no,” John soothes, moving his hand in calming circles on Sherlock’s back, “trust me, if you’d done something that wrong, I’d let you know,” he pauses, chewing his lip, “you know what my temper is like.”

Sherlock hums when John’s other hand joins the circles on his back.

“I was just a little pissed off, and needed some air, alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what was it?”

John smiles, dropping a kiss into Sherlock’s hair, “the mould samples and chemicals in the bedroom, maybe?”

Sherlock shifts uncomfortably.

John laughs and pulls Sherlock onto his lap, “it’s just, if I’m going to sleep in your room, I’d prefer to know I’m not going to trip over one of your experiments during the night or end up catching something from the mould. It’s a health hazard and Sherlock, it smelled absolutely rank.”

“If you move into my room, does that mean I can keep them upstairs?” Sherlock says, looking up from underneath his eyelashes.

“I suppose, as long as you don’t mess it up too much, and clean up the mould that started growing in the corner under your bed,” John says.

Sherlock smiles and presses his cheek against John’s.

They sit holding each other for a moment, when John chuckles, “so, guilt. Sherlock Holmes can actually feel guilt.”

“No, I was worried about you,” Sherlock retorts, dropping his forehead to John’s shoulder, “you’ve never been that angry before.”

“You felt guilty,” John laughs, nuzzling Sherlock’s neck with his nose.

Sherlock squirms, “no I didn’t.”

John lies back and pulls Sherlock down with him, tucking him under his arm.

“I thought you had to go to work?” Sherlock says, settling against John.

“I was leaving early to stop somewhere to get breakfast anyway.”

 “So we’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” John kisses Sherlock’s nose, “and if you tidy up your room a bit we’ll be more than okay.”


	25. Gazing into eachother's eyes

John has a very good internal body clock. The only disadvantage of this is his inability to have a lie in, which means he’s often left awake while Sherlock catches up on his sleep marathon after a case. Usually, he’ll get up, shower, and start his daily business until Sherlock appears to drag him back to bed. Other days he likes to stay under the warm duvet, occasionally with a book, sometimes just to close his eyes and think.

This morning is one of those lazy days. He’s been thinking seriously about several things recently, one of which would be put into action that morning when Sherlock finally woke up. John shifts from his side onto his front and jostles the mattress. Sherlock’s eyes blink open and flicker sleepily over to John, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Mornin’,” John says, cheek resting on his folded arms on the pillow.

Sherlock stares blearily for a moment, before mumbling a gravelly, “morning.”

With a smile, John blindly reaches to the bedside table and grabs a small velvet box. He drops the box on Sherlock’s chest and smiles, snuggling into Sherlock’s side and throws an arm over his waist.

Sherlock eyes the box warily, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He picks it up and turning it in his hand. His eyes widen.

“John, I—”

John laughs, “worked it out?”

“Are you sure?”

John looks into Sherlock’s eyes, a strange green in the morning light, and gently nods his head, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’m very sure, if you’ll have me. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Sherlock flips the lid of the box open and is greeted by a pair of plain silver bands. He picks one up and reads the engraving on the inside,  _29 JAN 2010 - SH & JW_. He smiles, “the day we met. How sentimental.”

“It’s what I do best,” John says, pressing his lips against the shell of Sherlock’s ear, “I didn’t think you’d want anything fancy, so I when I found those I was over the moon.”

“I’d wear any ring you put on my finger, John. Are you sure you want to tie yourself to me like this?”

“Of course, if any of those things you said when we met had bothered me I’d be long gone by now. I love you for you, and want to spend the rest of my life with you. But only if you want to spend yours with me.”

Sherlock slips one ring onto his finger and holds it in the air, examining and feeling the weight of it. He picks up John’s hand and puts the other ring onto his. Sherlock entwines their fingers together and rests their hands on his chest.

“’Till death do us part,” Sherlock grins.

“’Till death do us part,” John repeats, rolling onto Sherlock’s chest to kiss him.


	26. Getting married

John hears Sherlock’s familiar stomping from their room to the living room.

“Why do I have to wear this?” He says, holding his arms out to the side, “it’s not like we’re having a ceremony or anything. We’re just signing a piece of paper.”

John chuckles, not looking up from his newspaper, “what do you mean ‘just’? It’s important,” he snorts quietly, “and you think I made you wear that just to sign a piece of paper? I like you in a tux. Now hurry up and sort your tie, Mycroft’s car’ll be here soon.”

“But a bow tie?”

John glances up, a sly smile crossing his face, “you’ll look nice, no doubt there’ll be photographs.”

Sherlock scowls, and crosses to the mirror to straighten his jacket. He nods towards John's old t shirt, bare legs and bright red underwear, “aren’t you going to put on a suit? I’m not marrying you in your pants.”

John folds the paper in half and drops it on the coffee table, “yes, I was waiting for you to finish in the bathroom first. Not all of us take as long as you do.”

With a smile, John stands and drags his fingers over the back of Sherlock’s neck on his way to the bathroom.

Sherlock hears the shower turn on and familiar rustling. He falls into John’s chair and smiles. It had been a month since John had proposed to him. They had intended to get everything sorted and marry quickly, but then a rather distracting case had come up that required both their attention and an eventful trip to Slovakia.

Sherlock is snapped out of his thoughts when he hears John re-enter the room.

“Come on then, husband. Our car awaits,” John says, leaning over the back of the armchair and pressing a kiss into his hair.

Sherlock lifts his head and presses his nose against John’s cheek, “we’re not married yet, John,” he mumbles into John’s skin.

John grins, “not for much longer.”

Sherlock slowly rises and straightens out his jacket. He takes in the sight before him; a kilt falls to John’s knees, a small slither of his legs is visible between it and his cream socks. On the top John is wearing something similar to Sherlock, a black tie tucked into a waistcoat. John shrugs on a blazer over the top and holds an arm out to Sherlock.

“A Watson tartan kilt?” Sherlock smirks, taking John’s arm, “and are you wearing this traditionally?”

“I’ll leave you to your deductions,” John matches Sherlock’s smirk and leads him down the stairs.


	27. On one of their birthdays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year and one season of Sherlock later...
> 
> I've actually been through every chapter and edited or completely rewritten so if there's anyone still subscribed to this you might want to have a reread. I went through them all because my writing style has changed a lot in the year and a half (and I think I've improved maybe a bit??).   
> Once I've finished this challenge I'm considering doing the 30 day nsfw otp challenge~ (and hopefully not take a year and a half to finish it)

John wakes up to an empty bed. His hand drifts to the other pillow and finds it cool; Sherlock had either never joined him or had already been up for a long time.

 _Good start to my birthday_ , he thinks as he rolls to the edge of the bed and throws off the cover. He perches at the edge of the mattress and yawns.

He jumps when Sherlock bustles in carrying a tray. He frowns.

“You were supposed to stay in bed.”

“Eh?”

Sherlock lowers the tray, “I brought you breakfast.”

“I. Okay, thank you, Sherlock,” John shuffles back onto the bed and covers his lap with the duvet, “is there a reason behind this or are you just being nice and trying to drug me again?”

“Because it’s your birthday.  I wouldn’t drug you on your birthday,” Sherlock pouts, “that’s what partners do isn’t it? Bring each other breakfast in bed?”

“That’s actually really sweet of you, Sherlock. Thank you,” he puts his hands on Sherlock’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss, “so, what did you make for me?”

Sherlock puts the tray on John’s lap and crawls onto the bed at his other side, “fry up. Mrs Hudson was able to get those sausages you like and there’s some more tomatoes and mushrooms in the pan if you want them.”

“Lovely,” John smiles, picking up the cutlery. He groans at the first bite, “you know just how I like my eggs, don’t you.”

Sherlock grins and presses himself against John’s side, revelling in the praise. He pulls his dressing gown closer to his body.

John finishes the last of his toast and stretches, “thank you, Sherlock, that was really good.”

Sherlock kisses John on the lips and takes the tray. He puts it by the door and hovers beside the bed, fiddling with the tie on his dressing gown. John starts to lift the duvet, but Sherlock puts a gentle hand on his chest and pushes him back onto the pillow, his back against the headboard.

“Stay in bed, I need to give you the second part of your present.”

John’s left eyebrow lifts, “second part?”

The tie on Sherlock’s dressing gown is unlooped and it falls from his shoulders, revealing pale skin. It drops to the floor with a quiet whoosh, leaving Sherlock stood wearing only a pair of black lacy pants. John gapes; they’d experimented a little in the bedroom, but hadn’t actually tried _this_ since they’d both expressed a fondness for lace.

Sherlock crawls up the bed until he’s straddling John’s hips, “I bought them especially for you. There are matching stockings and heels too, but I thought we’d save those for later.”

“Best birthday present ever.”


	28. Doing something ridiculous

“John!”

John snuffles into wakefulness to Sherlock straddling his hips, his eyes lit up with glee. He gently shakes John’s shoulder.

“Are you awake yet, John?”

“What?” John snorts, swatting at Sherlock’s hands.

Sherlock grins toothily, “it snowed!”

John blinks slowly, “well that’s nice, can I go back to sleep now? I can worry about getting to work in the morning at a more human hour.”

He starts to turn over but Sherlock pulls him back, “no, John. It _snowed_. Actual, real, heavy snow. In London.”

“I heard you the first time,” John grunts, “take your coat off and come to bed.”

John hears Sherlock growl quietly, but his weight lifts from John’s hips and the door shuts. With a satisfied smile, John punches his pillow and rolls over. Before John can settle into something resembling sleep he hears the door creak open again and Sherlock’s light footsteps on the wooden flooring.

“Finally decided to join me?” John mumbles, starting to make room for Sherlock’s sleepy sprawl.

Instead of a warm body joining him in the bed, John feels two handfuls of snow dropped onto his chest.

“ _Jesus_ , Sherlock, you bastard. What was that for?” John flies to sitting, ice slowly melting on his skin and through the duvet.

Sherlock blinks, “are you naked under there?”

“ _Yes_!”

Sherlock’s mouth does something funny. It starts to curl up into a smile, but he tries to keep it under control, not wanting to face a pissed off John.

“Sherlock Holmes, you are a complete and utter cock,” John shakes the snow out of his hair and throws a particularly large chunk towards Sherlock, who easily bats it away.

“Come outside with me, John.”

“No,” John shakes his head, “no way. Too cold.”

“That’s usually how you get snow, John.”

“Alright, smartarse. I’m still not going outside with you.”

“Please, John,” Sherlock kneels by John’s hip and touches his hand. He grins so his nose crinkles, “brand new, untouched snow. Don’t you want to ruin it?”

John chews his lip and fights back a shiver, “ten minutes.”

Sherlock’s grin widens.

[][][]

John finds himself eagerly putting on his warmest clothes and borrowing one of Sherlock’s scarves. He forces Sherlock’s feet into his wellies and finds his own, still caked in mud from their last visit to a farm for a case. Sherlock flees down the stairs ahead of John, his keys jingling in his pocket.

“Hurry up!” He calls.

John rolls his eyes and pulls his scarf tighter, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Obviously not coming quickly enough for Sherlock, John’s hand is grabbed and he’s pulled through their front door and down the street to the park not five minutes away.

He can’t help but smile at the still falling snow and completely untouched park. It doesn’t stay untouched for long as Sherlock runs with childish glee into the centre of the park. His leather gloves appear to be warm enough for him to roll a ball of snow between his palms and throw it into a tree, making snow fall in clumps.

John perches on the edge of a bench and watches snowflakes under the streetlamps. He suddenly swears at the biting chill of a snowball against his jaw and jumps up to make some ammo to throw back at Sherlock. An all-out snowball war breaks out between them, dashing behind trees and benches. They’re evenly matched, John dodging with experience and Sherlock throwing carefully calculated over arms.

John is hit square in the face and he stumbles backwards, thankful for the snow cushioning his fall. He has trouble standing up, wiggling in his layers of coats and jumpers and eventually gives up, flopping his arms back into the snow and giggling. He giggles even more when Sherlock looms over him with an armful of loose snow.

John throws his hands in the air, “truce, you win. I’ve had enough snow dumped on me today.”

With a grin, Sherlock throws it to the side and holds a hand down to John to heave him up.

They leave the park hand in hand and both drenched through to their pants. When they get home John pulls Sherlock up the stairs to the flat and orders him to strip. He folds their clothes neatly and leaves them by the radiator in the bathroom. Next he finds their warmest pyjamas and leaves Sherlock bundled in a thick blanket on the sofa while he sets the kettle to boil. He makes them both hot chocolate and joins Sherlock, who appears to be enjoying John’s naturally higher temperature.

John nudges Sherlock’s nose with his own, “mum used to always make chocolate for me and Harry after we’d been out in the snow. It was the only way to stop the all-out war we would have going. We built forts and had piles of snowballs, ready to be thrown. Sometimes we’d team up against the other kids in the street. The Watsons always won though.”

“Mummy didn’t let us out in the snow by ourselves after I fell in the pond when I was seven and got pneumonia,” Sherlock sighs and cuddles closer to John, warming his hands on both his mug and John’s body, “not being allowed always made me want it more.”

“You were never allowed to play in the snow?”

“Rarely. She was scared it would happen again,” Sherlock shrugs.

John smiles gently, “I’ve never seen you so happy. Not even triple murders put that look you had in your eyes.”

Sherlock coughs a laugh and snuggles closer, “blame my mother, it’s her fault I enjoy it so much.”

“So now whenever it snows you go out in it?”

“Just because I can, yes.”

John closes his eyes and rests his chin on Sherlock’s fluffy hair.

 “Are you warm enough now?” John asks after they’ve been quiet for ten minutes, and they’ve put their mugs on the coffee table, “ready for bed?”

Sherlock nudges John into lying on his back and wriggles on top of him, pulling the blanket over the both of them.

“I can’t stay up here all night, Sherlock. I still have to go to the surgery tomorrow.”

“Call in sick.”

John pulls a disapproving face, “I can’t call in sick because my boyfriend wants me to stay home to have snowball fights and then keep him warm.”

“Why not?” Sherlock whines, nuzzling John’s throat.

John laughs, “I just can’t. It’s not the way it works, you might create your own profession and hours, but Sarah’ll have my head if I leave them when the weather’s like this. Colds and sprained limbs in abundance.”

“F _in_ e,” Sherlock groans as John drags him to the bedroom.

Luckily for John, Sarah calls him early in the morning to tell him he won’t be needed until after the weekend. Sherlock insists he had nothing to do with it. 


	29. Doing something sweet

Two weeks ago, Sherlock fell down the stairs. He broke his leg, cracked two of his ribs and dislocated his shoulder.

One week ago, Sherlock was discharged from hospital and luckily for him, everything he needed in the flat was on one floor or could be easily retrieved by John.

He’d spent his first few days home in bed, under both his medical doctor’s and Doctor Watson’s orders. John brought him food and tea, Mrs Hudson snuck in cakes and biscuits, Molly dropped off a bag of fingers (which John quickly removed from the bedroom), and Lestrade stopped by with a few case files that could be solved without moving. The second half of the week he’d managed to hobble from the bedroom to the sofa, where John could still look after him.

Now, a week after being discharged from the hospital and being home, Sherlock decides he wants to change out of his ratty pyjamas and dressing gown and into a something clean. He tried to stand up when John had gone to ASDA, which ended disastrously. As soon as he tried to roll off the sofa, he toppled over and onto the floor. Sighing and rolling himself over, he lay and waited for John’s return.

Eventually, he hears the door open and shut, and John’s familiar footsteps tap on the stairs.

“Sherlock? Bloody hell, what have you done this time?” John drops the shopping on the coffee table and crouches next to him, frantically running his hands over Sherlock’s bandages and casts.

“I’m fine. I want a shower,” Sherlock mumbles, “help me up.”

John groans and helps Sherlock to sit up, then hoists him to his feet and steers him back to the sofa, where Sherlock flops bonelessly.

“A shower?” John asks, stood with his hands on his hips.

“A shower, yes. That’s what I said.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You can’t have a shower. Not in this state,” John’s voice begins taking on a doctorly tone, “you barely made it to the door without my help. You think I’m going to let you loose in a cubicle of pouring water?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“You could have a bath? That way I can keep an eye on you.”

“And being in a tub of still water is better than a cubicle of running water?” Sherlock snorts.

“You’d be sat down,” John sighs, “I could at least help with a bath and be sure you’re not going to drown.”

“Fine, but I hate not being able to do anything,” Sherlock whines, “I hate having to rely on you for everything.”

“You rely on me for everything anyway. Just remember who makes sure you eat, drink and sleep,” John grumbles, “anyway, it serves you right for not paying attention when you pace, you clot. If you did you wouldn’t be in this state,” he says, hooking Sherlock’s good arm over his own shoulders. Sherlock winces, but John ignores him, electing to drag him in the direction of the bathroom.

When they get there, John unceremoniously drops Sherlock on the closed toilet lid and moves to start filling the bath. He mumbles to himself, “I’ll check under those bandages too.”

Once satisfied that the water is warm enough he turns back to Sherlock, “now strip and I’ll sort them out.”

Sherlock’s cheeks turn pink. John stares for a moment.

“Are you getting _shy_ , Sherlock?” John grins when Sherlock glares, “I’m a doctor and I was in the army, I’ve seen my fair share of naked bodies. Including yours.”

Sherlock grumbles and starts pulling his t shirt off. After a moment he gives up, “ _John_.”

John rolls his eyes and begins helping Sherlock out of his pyjamas, choosing to leave his boxers on until the last minute, if only for Sherlock’s dignity. He removes the bandages and does the routine checks of the cuts and bruises, gently wiping them down with a damp flannel.

Eventually, John speaks, “okay, you can get in now. And remember to keep your leg—“

“Yes,” Sherlock hisses, “I know.”

Sherlock slowly lies down, hanging his cast over the side of the bath tub. He leans back and looks at John expectantly.

John sighs and kneels, pulling his shirt sleeves up, “right, when was the last time you washed your hair?” he asks, pulling his fingers through the greasy curls.

Sherlock hums at the touch, “a day or two before I fell, I think. I couldn’t be bothered afterwards, too much effort.”

“I’m going to wash it then, is that alright?” John feels Sherlock’s head nod under his hands, “you’ll feel a bit better if it and you are clean.”

“Hm,” Sherlock mumbles, moving his head towards John, “I saw myself in the mirror earlier. Knowing it won’t look like a bird’s nest will make me feel infinitely better.”

“And you try to tell me you aren’t vain.”

Sherlock grumbles in reply.

“You’re like a cat, you know,” John chuckles, when he begins to lather Sherlock’s hair with conditioner, making him lean into John’s hands.

“I’d rather not be compared to one of _those_.”

John laughs again and continues massaging Sherlock’s scalp. Contrary to Sherlock’s opinion on cats, he stretches his neck and almost purrs at the touch in a way that only felines have effectively mastered.

The rest of Sherlock’s bath is uneventful, and when the water begins to cool John insists Sherlock get out. He complies and grumbles as John helps him to stand and wraps a towel around his shoulders. John drapes a second towel over Sherlock’s head and begins to rub his through his hair, drying it. He leaves the towel on Sherlock’s head, his face only visible from his cheekbones. John leans up on his toes to peck a quick kiss on the tip of Sherlock’s nose.

“Dry yourself off a bit,” he says, disappearing back into the bedroom.

He reappears within a few minutes, holding clean pyjamas and the red dressing gown. He helps Sherlock into the pyjamas and drapes the dressing gown around his shoulders.

“Feel any better?”

“Somewhat.”

“Towel your hair off a bit, yeah? I’ll find the hairdryer.”

John kisses Sherlock’s cheek and walks to their bedroom. Sherlock hears the drawers being opened and shut while John rummages through them. Using his good arm, Sherlock pulls his dressing gown closer to his body and ruffles his hair with the towel.

After a few minutes he hobbles into the bedroom to see John untangling the ancient hairdryer Harry had left when she last visited. Sherlock glares at it and John in turn.

“Knowing your luck, if you sleep with your hair wet, you’ll end up with a cold and be sicker than you already are.”

Sherlock huffs and carefully perches on the edge of the bed, allowing John to blast the hot air at him for several minutes. Once he seems happy with the result, he puts the hairdryer on the floor and steps in front of Sherlock. He raises a hand and gently pats the messy curls.

“Come on,” John says, “watch some crap telly with me.”

He holds his hand out, which Sherlock slowly takes, allowing himself to be lead back into the living room.

John sits against the arm rest and motions for Sherlock to sit with him. Dropping one foot to the floor, John arranges Sherlock into lying in between his legs and back to chest. He links their fingers together on Sherlock’s stomach and presses a kiss against Sherlock’s neck.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock murmurs.

“Hm, what’s that for?”

Sherlock rolls his head back onto John’s shoulder and smiles, “for looking after me.”


	30. Doing something hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the end. I started on the 21st September 2012 and now it's finally done. I'm working on improving writing more mature fics and I think I'm getting there? I hope. Had to up the rating to M for this chapter since I didn't know how far I was gonna go with the prompt. Turns out I took it further than I thought I would.

Sherlock is brought out of his mind palace by something heavy landing on his lap. When he opens his eyes the ‘something heavy’ turns out to be John, who has straddled him and has pressed his knees into the chair, either side of Sherlock’s hips.

“Sherlock, I’m bored.”

Sherlock smirks, “by bored, you mean..?”

“Randy, yes,” John grins, “come to bed.”

He rolls his hips and leans down to mouth at Sherlock’s throat.

“You interrupted my thinking for a quick shag?”

“You’ve interrupted more important things for less.”

Sherlock tilts his head to give John more room to nuzzle, “giving me a taste of my own medicine, John?”

John hums against Sherlock’s skin, “you didn’t get that from the ‘bored’ line?”

Rather than replying Sherlock’s hands move down John’s back to grab his arse and pull him closer. John smiles and presses their lips together. The intentions behind the kiss are clear from the start and Sherlock moans when John prises his mouth open with his tongue. John rocks his hips and palms at the front of Sherlock’s trousers.

“Eager,” Sherlock comments when they break for air. He gives John’s arse one more squeeze and brings a hand to the front of John’s trousers and presses against the now very noticeable bulge.

John groans at the touch and pulls down Sherlock’s zip with one hand while tangling the other in his brown curls. He pulls Sherlock’s cock out of the gap in his boxers. Sherlock carefully unbuttons John’s jeans and pulls them down enough to hook the band of John’s pants under his balls. John tilts his hips so they’re closer together and puts his hand over Sherlock’s so they can move together. He rocks into the circle of their hands and pulls Sherlock’s hair. He uses his grip on Sherlock’s hair to press open mouthed kisses against Sherlock’s lips, making him moan.

Their kisses turn messy and they end up pressing their foreheads together, panting into each other’s mouths.

“I’m close,” John breathes, pressing their noses against each other. He moves his hand from Sherlock’s hair to grip the back of the armchair, his fingernails leaving small crescents in the material.

Sherlock writhes beneath him and suddenly gasps, his orgasm catching him by surprise. John tucks his head into Sherlock’s neck and moves his fist faster until he comes over his hand and onto Sherlock’s still-clothed stomach.

They move enough to realign their mouths, sharing gentle chaste kisses while they catch their breath.

John giggles once he’s evened out his breathing, “that shirt is a write off.”

“Mm,” Sherlock agrees, “good thing it became my experiments shirt after I spilt curry on the collar.”

“It’s lucky you were wearing it today then, isn’t it?” John grins.

“Indeed.”

Sherlock’s eyes slide closed and he’s still breathing hard when John stands up. John groans when his knees click and he wobbles enough to need Sherlock’s shoulder for support. Standing straighter, John makes his way to the bathroom to find a flannel. While he’s still cleaning himself up, he feels arms wrap around his waist and looks in the mirror to see Sherlock topless and yawning.

“Ready for round two already?” John laughs.

Sherlock glares, “take me to bed and when I wake up I might be.”

John rubs their cheeks together, “joking, love.”

“The offer is still there,” Sherlock shrugs, turning to go into the bedroom.

John hears the mattress springs creak and quickly turns off the tap and sheds his clothes before joining him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who stuck with this and put up with my massive hiatuses~ Next up is the nsfw 30 day challenge. Hopefully this one won't take me a year and a half to complete.


End file.
